


Verisimilitude

by Fumm95



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Memory Loss, Other, Pining, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 19:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12754662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fumm95/pseuds/Fumm95
Summary: Sometimes, the hardest part is seeing how little anything has changed on the surface, even when she doesn't remember him anymore.





	Verisimilitude

**Author's Note:**

> Asra owns my entire heart and the thought of him having to continue living with the apprentice after they lost their memories, hearing them call him “master” when their relationship was anything but that, is so painful.
> 
> Disclaimer: I have no idea why the Apprentice lost their memories and while I’m almost certain Asra has something to do with it (or at least knows more than he’s saying), there’s still a lot left open. I just chose to completely ignore it in this. :P
> 
> Seraphyna (she/her) is my apprentice. :)

The worst part, he thinks, is how, in appearances, nothing has changed.

This new version of Seraphyna takes everything he tells her into stride, hardly batting an eye, let alone voicing a question, when she sees the single bed, the cozy way their little home above the shop is arranged. Instead, she only nods when he, carefully keeping his face neutral, makes some vague comment about it being more cost-effective, and slides in beside him, at once too close and yet so far away.

He doesn’t sleep, that night, too afraid that he’ll let down his guard and unconsciously push her too far. That he’ll forget about what she’s forgotten.

The next morning finds him barely awake, nearly drowning himself in coffee. When she finds him nursing a steaming cup, a flash or surprise crosses her face, and for one wonderful, horrible moment, hope fills his sleep-deprived mind before her expression smooths out and reality crashes back down over him.

“You’re awake already.” Her voice is warm and soft and painfully familiar. What looks vaguely like concern wrinkles her brow but there’s something strange and distant in the way she looks at him, as though straining, and failing, to remember who he is to her.

“I am.” He smiles, hoping that it only shows affection and nothing more, nothing that might give away too much. Nothing that might show how devastated he is at her current state. “How do you feel?”

Almost as if his words brought it to her attention, a hand raises to massage her temples, and he has to tamp down on the desire to reach for her, to wrap his arms around her and hold her closer than he has any reason to, now.

She’s not ready yet.

Instead, he simply waits, hands gripping his mug so tightly that part of him wonders at the fact that it hasn’t shattered yet, as she turns a mildly curious gaze to him, though something flickers in her gaze. “I feel all right but… My memory is strange. Hazy? I…”

He’s on his feet, reaching for her, appearances be damned, as soon as the look of intense pain flashes across her face. For one agonizing moment, she looks as though she might push him away, but then she relents, body sagging against him when he slides an arm around her shoulders and presses fingers cool with magic to her forehead, his heart in his throat.

After several heartbeats, she pulls away, face wan, and doesn’t protest when he leads her to his chair. “I… thank you, Master.”

He bites his lip hard enough to taste iron before crouching to catch her gaze, still blurry with pain. “Of course. You should be wary of trying to remember more than you are capable of at the moment. I believe that may have triggered the headache.”

She nods, but frustration is clear in her expression. “I understand. I just… hate that I don’t know why I’m here, or who you are, or anything about this.”

“I do too.” The words are quiet enough that she shouldn’t be able to hear him but though she says nothing, her eyes dart to his, so quickly he almost misses it.

It’s soon revealed that she remembers little to none of her magical skills, in spite of all of her innate power, and he finds himself taking on the role of “master,” a title and honor that he can’t help but despise with every fiber of his being. It sounds _wrong_ coming from her mouth, eyes warm with trust and respect, when he knows her powers could likely outstrip his with proper training, when he knows _her_ as someone far more intimate, far more precious.

Still, she learns quickly, far more quickly than anyone else could, as though her body remembers what her mind cannot. In some ways, it’s a small blessing; she needs only small corrections in her posture, adjustments that he makes with gentle hands and light, hesitant touches. He can escape the luminescent eyes and warm skin that seem to haunt him, so foreign and yet so right, everything that he wants but cannot have.

But even so, he cannot escape her presence, lingering in the air even in her absence. The soft caress of her magic teases him, enveloping him in warmth that is constant and all too familiar. Even she herself hovers on the fringes of his space, watching over his shoulder as he researches, brushing against him as they work together to prepare dinner, as in sync as if she hasn’t forgotten that they have been doing it their entire lives. Curling up beside him, relaxed and open and trusting, in sleep. There’s nothing that doesn’t remind him of what they once had. Of what only he remembers.

Rich, golden eyes always seem to be watching him, sometimes narrowed in concentration, sometimes unfocused and gentle. He tries several times to help her remember, first all at once and then, when that only ends in shaking hands and catatonia, piece by piece, but it only results in panic and headaches so strong that tears fill her eyes and he has no choice but to stop.

Nothing, not even the return of her memories, is worth seeing her in pain like that, is worth possibly _losing_ her again, only for good this time.

He can live with this, with being around her and slowly rebuilding the life that they once had, with watching and knowing and waiting. He knows she’s not the only one affected by this, that the Countess has been afflicted by a coma she hasn’t even woken from and he can’t help but feel grateful that it hasn’t gotten that far, at least.

Besides, there has to be a solution out there somewhere. He won’t—he _can’t_ —accept that it’s permanent. The memories could come back on their own, or maybe after time and nurturing her magic, she’ll be strong enough to complete a memory transfer. If nothing else, he knows, once he’s certain that she is stabilized and has regained enough of her former magical prowess, he will search the ends of the world for a cure, for as long as it takes.

But for now, he can only wait in this strange facsimile of their former life and _hope_.


End file.
